


You Wanted Me to Run

by 2space_lesbo1



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Blood, Can Take Place During Any of the Series, Canon-Typical Violence, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, injuries, limited medical knowledge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:00:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22304551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2space_lesbo1/pseuds/2space_lesbo1
Summary: Geralt and Ciri find themselves in a difficult situation when bandits attack.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Comments: 3
Kudos: 162





	You Wanted Me to Run

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote mmooooreee
> 
> where and when this takes place is really vague, so i feel like it could happen during the show, books or game 
> 
> speaking of the books, i finished blood of eleven, yay!! moving onto the next....
> 
> pls lemme know what y'all think! they're a lot of fun to write lol

The sword hilt is heavy in her hands as she struggles to lift it, standing her ground even as the men surround them, laughing so hard it twisted their ugly faces. Geralt grunts behind her on the ground, too many bloody arrows piercing his skin and making too large of a red puddle beneath him. His breathing is labored, and Ciri’s traitorous mind sends flashes of the night of the invasion, of her mother’s breathing, of her blood covering her hands. 

“Run, Ciri!” Geralt grounded out between tightly clenched teeth. He's trying to push himself up from his back, but the arrows dig further in and he growls in pain. One arrow snaps, which isn't good, the metal part is going to be stuck in his flesh now, and will be hard to dig out. “Get the fuck out of here!”

Ciri grinds her own teeth together, following the men with her eyes as they continue to laugh at her and mock her. “Oh yes, wee lass, run away so we can kill your daddy!” one drawled. 

“I didn't even think Witchers could have kids!” another shouted. 

“We must have found the exception- now let's kill this freak,” another said with glee. 

“S- Stay back!” Ciri yelled, and pointed the sword at one of the men. They stare at it before knocking it from her grip like it was nothing, grabbing her by the scruff of her shirt and tossing her aside. She grunts as she hits the ground, but doesn't stop moving, pushing up to see the men closing in on Geralt, malice clear in their expression. 

“Don't you worry, lass!” the one from before called to her. “We’ll have fun with you later!” 

They laugh, and Geralt is struggling to stand, to fight even though he could hardly move, and Ciri is getting sick. She wants to throw up and cry and kill them all. She wanted them to get away from Geralt- he was all she had left, the only family, and she'd only just found him. 

“Get away from him!” she screamed, but the men only acknowledged her with another round of laughter. Tears are pushing past the weak damn that are her eyelids and she pushes to her feet, running forward, screaming, “Get away!” 

And that's when it happens. 

The air convulses around her voice, growing higher in octaves and shaking the ground and trees and everything in between. The men falter at the piercing sound, their hands flying to their ears as they begin to stagger. The only one who seems to be unphased is Geralt, who has finally gotten to be standing- if wobbly- watching as she pushed past the horrible men and continued to scream, letting her entire breath out. 

The men’s ears begin bleeding, their eyes start to water, and their hearts stutter with the sound of the scream, nearly kicking up too high in speed. They fall to the ground, writhing, but she doesn't stop. She doesn't stop until they've stopped moving, and she can't continue anymore, dizzy from the long breath. 

She catches herself, turns to Geralt who is staring down at her with widened eyes. Nearly as wide as they had been on the day they'd found one another, though now completely shocked by what he had just witnessed. She clears her throat, which was now sore and scratchy, and grabs one of his hands, tugging at it. 

“You've got to sit down, Geralt!” she exclaimed, her voice no longer being the only sound in the forest but now a rough version of itself seeming to shock him from whatever spell he'd fallen under. He nods and sits down heavily into the leaves, grunting as he does so. “I'll go get Roach.” 

She turns to leave and do just that, when Geralt speaks, “How long have you been able to do that?” 

She looks back to him, sees something in his eyes that she can't name. She shrugs. “On the day of the siege is when it started,” she replied. Her voice was small, but she was already looking at the wounds Geralt had received, going through the list of medical instructions he’d taught her. “Here, bite on this stick.” 

“I don't need it,” he said dismissively, and she frowned. He gives her a pointed look and she sighs, tossing the stick away. “You can't control them, can you? Your powers.” 

She presses her lips together, grabs Geralt’s bag and readies the herbs they would need to clean these wounds. She grips one of the arrows by the throat, readies herself mentally, and yanks as hard as she could. Geralt grunts nut is otherwise quiet, watching her with his cat eyes. 

“No,” she responded with the expected answer. He nods, watches as she spreads the herb mixtures into the wound. She checks the bag for bandages next, frowns when she finds none, and grabs the end of her dress, tearing it down for a makeshift bandage instead. “Hate to ruin the dress you got me. Sorry, Geralt.” 

“I can get you another one,” Geralt responded easily. He grunts again as Ciri pulls a second arrow free. “Don't forget you’ll have to sew the wounds closed.” 

She groans, and digs through the bag for a needle and thread. “This string is a bit thin,” she points out. 

“It'll work fine,” Geralt replied. “Does the power only happen when you're in trouble?” 

“So far,” she said, covering one of the wounds she'd opened with the torn fabric of her dress. She focuses on the one she'd cleaned, slipping the thin thread through the needle and setting to work. Geralt stays completely still, watching her needlework. It is only a tad shaky- she recalls how to sew from when she'd been taught by Eist in the castle. “Everyone should know how to sew,” he'd told her. 

They remain silent for a few minutes as Ciri continued to close the first wound, before she moved to the next once she'd wrapped the first. “You should have run when I told you to,” Geralt said suddenly, and maybe Ciri tugs a bit harder than necessary on the needle. Geralt doesn’t flinch, really, but she can see the slight squinting of his eyes. She's gotten better at reading him. “You need to stay alive.” 

“And you don't?” she shot back, sticking the needle through flesh again. Geralt hums roughly. “Geralt, I'm not going to leave you if you're going to die.” 

“Ciri, I could have handled it,” he said, his voice softening. He does that when he's talking to her and trying to be nice. He still wasn't the best at being the nicest, but he was trying and learning for her, and she did appreciate it. 

“It didn't look like it!” Ciri exclaimed, once more pulling a tad harder than she needed to. Geralt grunts as she does so, and then she is wiping blood from the closed wound and wrapping it with another piece of her dress. “You were filled with arrows, Geralt! You could hardly stand and you looked like-” like her grandmother, dying right in front of her. The words catch in her throat and she tears a third arrow from Geralt’s side, blood splattering across her hand. The witcher flinched, though at her words or the pain now probably blossoming in his side she wasn't sure. 

She swallows heavily, against the bile suddenly in her the back of her throat, at the tears misting over her gaze, at the way her hands were shaking. She would not cry again. She was tired of crying. And she didn't want Geralt to see her crying, either. He'd probably think her weaker than he did if she started to bawl like a baby. 

“Ciri,” Geralt said, even softer than before. When she doesn't look up from cleaning the wound, he catches her chin in a large, calloused hand carefully. He turns her head so she was facing him. “I am not fully human, I would have been fine. Humans can not kill me easily. Do you understand?” He waits until she nods, and then he releases her chin. She goes back to working on the arrow wounds. She was still dreading digging out the arrow with the broken shaft. 

“But thank you,” Geralt said, and Ciri paused, looks up at his face. He's smiling, his eyes wrinkling lightly at the edges and the hard look in them softer than usual. “For helping me, I mean.” 

She blushes under his kind gaze and looks away, biting her lip. She was feeling more bashful than usual, even more so than the time Eist had taken her hunting and complimented her on the catch of a rabbit. She wasn't the best at accepting compliments, even if she enjoyed them. 

“I couldn't not do anything,” she said, finished the third wound. She pauses, looks at how many arrows were left and sighs. Three plus the head broken in his other side. “Now stop distracting me, I need to finish.” 

“Of course,” Geralt said with amusement, but does fall silent. 

In the end, Ciri leaves the arrowhead in his side for last. She ends up using a thin stick to pry it out until she grab its back, and then wiggles it the rest of the way out. Geralt was quiet for the most part, aside from soft grunts of pain and sharp breaths to keep himself quiet. It seems he didn't want to appear weak, either. Maybe they had that in common. 

Maybe they had a lot in common, actually.


End file.
